Tabula Rasa
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: -Sequel to Denouement-  3 years has past since Snape returned to the Aurors, Harry Potter defeated Voldemort and the Dark Prince was laid to rest. But Voldemort's armies was nothing compared to the older, darker evil that has finally returned to wage war.
1. House of Cards

Author's Note: Yes, I said I wasn't going to write Dark Prince anymore but hey, far be it from me to deny my muses in their twisted crusade to achieve infamy through fan fiction. Hope you enjoy, with thanks to everyone who helped contribute to this story.

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

**Tabula Rasa**

**By: Lady Erised**

Tabula Rasa- n. A need or an opportunity to start from the beginning.

**Chapter One: The House of Cards**

Severus Alexander Snape rolled over, opened his eyes and stared at the sunlight as it illuminated his bedroom. For a time, in those moments between slumber and wakefulness, there was a certain amount of peace and contentment that filled his soul. It was early summer at Hecate, and the weather was prefect. A white sun cast it's light over the green grass outside and the smell of ripening fruit wafted through his open windows, making his stomach growl. Rolling over, he felt the warm spot left behind by his lover. Curling his fingers over the warmth, he smiled a private smile and lingered longer, burying his nose into her pillow to savor the whispers of her aroma.

He sat up in bed, and rested his hands on his knees to allow himself time to accommodate himself with standing. As it did every morning, his hand found the necklace around his throat and toyed with the medallion. Tied by a brown leather cord, the silver pendant showed an Angel poised with a dragon under his feet and his sword leveled at the creature's neck. Saint Michael was craved delicately around the edge of the icon. Letting his hand linger for a moment while he closed his eyes, Snape then stood and walked to the bathroom.

Sind Charlemagne smiled at him in the mirror, side-stepping to allow him to wash his face. As he walked forward and held his hands under the water, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his scarred back. Had this been another time, Severus would have flinched from the touch, unwilling or unable to cope with what they meant. Now, it didn't matter. Of all the pain that had permeated his life throughout the years, the memories of past sins no longer held their sting.

He could only think how beautiful she looked in the morning. Her black hair had not been tamed, and fell in unruly curls that framed her square face and dark brown eyes. She was built and immaculate, with muscles that flexed under her tanned skin that no artist could have created. No scars injured her body, and age had barely begin to touch her, turning the hair around her crown gray and the laugh lines around her eyes more pronounced. She hated the lines, and the knowledge that more would come. He was kind of excited at the idea of growing old with her and meant to tease her about that when he saw her eyes dim uncharacteristically.

"What's wrong?" He asked quietly as he splashed the water over his face and righted himself to hold her hands around him.

Sind swallowed hard and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I started this morning."

Severus felt his stomach sink, but he was careful not to show his disappointment. Pulling up her hands, he kissed her knuckles and traced over her fingers with his. "Well, we can try again next month."

"Maybe we could adopt." She offered, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "If I'm too old…"

"Nonsense. You're not old."

"Gaza and I always wanted children but both of being Aurors as we were, there was never any time…and then he died…" Sind pulled away and this time Severus let her.

Gaza Charlemagne had been Sind's husband for almost twenty years before he died from drowning. It had been a cruel, ironic death for an Auror, who had expected to meet his end on some battlefield for some great and glorious reason and Sind had taken it hard. She had been in a depression for months after his death, only barely returning to work when Voldemort had returned.

Gaza had been dead only four years by the time Severus had met Sind that chaotic night three years ago when the final battle had been waged and the fate of the world had been sealed; not by great armies or fearsome weaponry but by one boy.

Three years. It hardly seemed that such time had passed since Harry Potter's repeat victory over the Dark Lord Voldemort and his own private victories over his own demons. But it had, and he, like the world was healing. Hecate Compound was slowly rebuilding from the battle, reconstructing the white walled pillars and buildings that made it famous, and gradually returning to self-rule after decades of accountability to civilian governments but the make-up of the Compound was different now. No longer was the monogamy of old names and traditions. Hecate was young now, new, with children that no longer saw differences where his generation had. They were blazing a brave new world, like Dumbledore had said they would.

And despite himself, Severus was proud to be alive to see it. But even as new worlds were being mapped, the sins of the old still had to be recounted.

"Come on," Snape whispered in Sind's ear. "Get dress, the Tribunal is meeting."

Sind blinked out of her nightmare and walked back into the bedroom to don her uniform and Severus did the same. They dressed and prepared in quiet, fumbling over one another and stealing glances and hurried kisses as if they were children and theirs was a secret love affair.

And this was to the great amusement of their friends, especially those like Ambassador Jamie Kahle-Byron who always enjoyed a chance to taunt her friend. And presently, it was Jamie who had appeared in the doorframe of the room with a grin and twinkling eyes. She had drawn her arms over her to rest them firmly on her hips, letting her robes flow around her. She gave them their fiercest, taunting look that she could muster before uttering in mock-disgust. "You two never quit, do you?"

Snape looked over, buttoning up his shirt and giving her a long-suffering look. "You're just jealous Bryon is in Poland."

"He's in the Czech Republic this week, Morning Star." Jamie countered. "And I'm not too worried. He's coming in for Amissa's baby-shower in a few weeks." She paused and looked over at Sind. "Speaking of which, will it be a double shower?"

Sind offered her a weak smile. "We'll see, next month."

"Well come on, you know how the Skipper gets if you're late, Alexander." Jamie nodded and then motioned for them to follow.

Severus suppressed a groan. "Skipper would send the Dementors after me if he could."

"But he can't." Jamie reminded him. "We don't use them anymore."

"Right. No." He replied. "But that doesn't mean he won't try."

Sind rolled her eyes. "You two go ahead. I have to shower before I head over to the Compound. "

Jamie waited till they had shut the bedroom door before stopping and looking over at Severus. "So, no luck this month?"

"No, and she's starting about her age again, thinks I'm going to leave her for another woman or something."

"Are you?"

"Of course not! I love her."

"But not enough to marry her?"

Severus inhaled, realizing that it would have come to this at some point in the conversation. Jamie had been pressuring marriage since Sind had moved in with Severus eight months ago, but thankfully had let to try and sway Sind to her cause. His hand moved to his neck, as he dug out the pendant and began to toy with it nervously like he had been known to do. "I'm just not ready for marriage right now."

"You were born ready, Alex. You're just afraid." Jamie pushed. "And I don't blame you, after Melanie…"

"It's not about Melanie, Jamie." Severus whispered, stopping at the doorway. He looked down his home, the old Townhouse that had been the home of his youth. It had been here Dahlia, Billy and Dora had died. It had been here his world had changed for the worst when he had been barely a man and it was here he had returned. He loved this home, and even though he had not yet garnered the strength to enter some of the rooms, he belonged there- to pick up the pieces of his life and reform and refit them to how they should be.

But he wondered how could he rebuilt when there was still so much unresolved in his life. So many unburied and restless.

"Then who is it about?"

"I just have to work some things out, I can't explain it but I…I'm not ready."

Jamie was watching him and then put a hand around his waist. "Well don't wait too long." She warned him. "Or Sind might not stay."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Any time!" Jamie chirped. "Come on, let's get a quick cup of coffee. We can be late to Tribunal a few minutes."

The Tribunal Chamber was a large, round room made with marbled floors and one of the few rooms in Hecate to have decorations. There were large, looming windows that had their white curtains drawn over them to mute the light, and words inscribed around the top like: Honor, Justice, Virtue and Fortitude. It was a typical courtroom, with the Judges' table near the far wall, facing the solid dark wood doors and the two tables set aside for the plaintiff and defense. There was a single chair in the center that had been placed there for the witness. The seating area that was usually set aside for spectators or press was reserved now for witnesses' families or those who had as of yet been uncalled.

Snape hated this room that had been his workplace for the past six months. It reminded him far too much of the courtrooms after Voldemort's first fall, when justice had been dulled in the name of giving security. Then, innocent people had been shamed and arrested while true monsters had walked free with the thanks of the High Court. But, he forced himself to remember, that Court those years ago had been designed to restore the peace.

This delegation was sought only to understand.

The Tribunal had been called to order six months ago at the request of Hecate's Council and the IWC. Their sole purpose was to decipher and understand all they could about the Dark Times, to try and understand what had transpired over the past three decades that had allowed first, Voldemort to come to power so quickly, and then flourish like he had. They wanted to understand what made monsters like the Dark Lord, his Princes, and all their countless armies. Hecate wanted to understand its role in this madness, and truly understand how they could have helped make these creations that had ravaged the world so. They wanted accountability and it was Severus and the other Consuls' responsibility to assign it.

Most of the key players were already there by the time Severus and Jamie had donned their black robes and entered the courtroom. Three of the six Tribunal chairs were filled, and seeing them enter, Sind looked up from her papers and smiled at Severus before turning back over her files. From his placer in the center, Chairman Sherman looked up and favored Severus with his most fierce glare before turning back and talking with his Companion.

Severus swallowed. Chairman Hesper "Skipper" Sherman had been a thorn in Severus' side since the battle had ended. Sherman was a few years older then Severus, and was the typical Auror of the era, having fought the major villains of his time: Rio Hecate, Lord Voldemort and his Dark Prince. His face was torn, with massive scars that ripped from one side of his face to the other at all angles. He wore a full gray beard with wisps of the natural red that it had been once peering around the corners and near the places scars jutted out. Sherman had one magical eye, that unlike Moody's appeared to be a solid silver orb, and where his other eye should have been was a black eye patch.

Severus was reasonably certain that Sherman had cultivated this look to appear as an able warrior and to tell the truth it worked. Severus was terrified of Sherman. And even more afraid of that blasted dog that followed Sherman everywhere.

Unable to make out breed, the full extent of Severus' knowledge of Little Jimmy was that he was old, ugly and gray: just like his Master. Jimmy had this coat of matted curly gray hair and seemed to carry dust and dirt from everywhere he's been. Solid black eyes, like a doll's eyes, gleamed from sunken eye sockets, and one ear was missing, bitten off in Jimmy's youth. But the teeth, the teeth were scary and sharp.

Sherman claimed the mutt could smell Dark Wizards a mile away, and there was no denying that Jimmy tried to bite him every time they were forced into close proximity together. Even now, he could hear Jimmy growling from his place under the Tribunal table, and despite himself, Severus leaned over to grab Jamie's arm.

Jamie took one look at him, then to the dog before shaking her head tiredly. "I don't believe you sometimes, Alex. Leave that poor mutt alone!"

"It's not me!"

"Of course it isn't.'

Severus looked at her blankly. "Whose side are you on?"

"Is that a trick question?" Severus turned and went immediately to new voice. He smiled at his savoir and wrapped his arms around her. "You believe me, don't you Sky?"

"Of course I do." Sky Falls whispered, patting on his arms.

"Hey, hey," Ginny Weasley cried as she sat up, readjusting the three year old on her lap. She was sitting behind the Advocate's desk, looking pleased with herself. "Hands off my girl, Professor."

Severus readjusted his grip and smiled at Ginny haughtily. "She was mine first." He told her, and then whispered into Sky's ear. "Why have you left me to join the other team, eh?"

"There was never another man for me outside of Phoenix." Sky said softly as she pulled away and moved to take the toddler from Ginny's lap and played with the child's blond hair. "Outside of Ambrose here, there'll never be another man for me."  
"Lucky for me." Ginny said as she stood finally and leaned into to favor Sky with a long, loving kiss. When she finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against Sky's for a while. "Now remember, I'm taking Ambrose to meet my parents so I'll be home late. Mother is going to want to cook dinner."

"Tell Molly I said hi." Sky whispered. "And afterwards, make sure you drop by Hogwarts so Albus can baby-sit." She gave Ginny, a coy dark smile. "I want just us tonight."

Ginny blinked, and raised a brow. "What a wanton I have…" She seemed to realize Severus was still near and blinked before gathering Ambrose and his bag and leaving the room.

Severus shook his head weakly at Sky who shrugged and walked to other Advocate's table to return some last minute paperwork. He gave a look to Jamie who merely nodded as they walked towards their table and took their respective seats.

Severus sat down and admired the view for a while, amazed at how quick the world moved on from a time nobody thought would heal. He was amazed how everyone had continued to live and flourished, finding love and security in the ashes of what had come before. Everything was at peace.

That should have been his first warning.


	2. Peaceful Hells

**Author's Note: For Saerry, because she asked. **

The appearances of things are deceptive.

-Seneca

**Chapter Two: Peaceful Hells**

_It was an odd dream to be sure, one that lied to the senses and the mind; professing falsehoods and hidden truths that one could not decipher so deep into the dreamscape. She was warm, and not uncomfortable but devoid of all senses. Reaching her arms out as far as she could, she tried to touch some semblance of reality. None could be found, nor could her eyes or ears, despite their enhancements give her any clue to her place or predicament. She inhaled quietly, and tried to quell the uncertainty that was beginning to creep into her mind. _

_She knew danger was close. Every fiber in her being screamed for her to come to arms, to prepare herself for something but her body refused to obey her mind. She was still too weak. She was dying. That could explain it all. She was dying and her body, though polished and drilled for war and survival had finally succumbed to the barriers she had been bucking her entire life. She was dying and soon, whatever fate awaited those of her kind would be waiting for her._

_No…_

_The grim realization struck her moments afterwards. She was not dying, not in the traditional sense, as one would consider dying. That moment of transition between living and what lied beyond had already passed, and yet she had remained. Trapped. Panic began to overcome her. She screamed till her vocal chords were ragged but could not hear her own voice. No one would come to rescue her from this abyss; she could feel it. Jumping to her feet, she strained to gather the last reserves of her strength and will to break free of this prison. She had to get free for she knew what awaited her beyond the darkness, knew of the terrors so alien to humanity, their kinds had no words for it. She had to get free. Escape began her only memory, her only desire, her only hope._

_Scrambling towards some direction, she pushed herself until the blackness overcame her and she fell…_

Erised Hecate jolted up in bed in a cold sweat. It took her a few tense moments for her breathing to slow, and the tremors from some nightmare she could not remember to subside. She exhaled finally, partially in annoyance with herself. These unrecalled nightmares were nothing new to her; she had been having them on and off for about three years. They came and went on their own accord, never remaining after she had awaken to give her some clue to what had seized her with such fear, but always leaving souvenirs of in their wake. Rolling over in bed, Ari groped in the dark blindly for Isaiah only to find her Vampire lover had abandoned their bed. Judging from the impression in the sheets, and the warmth his body left as residue, it had not been too long.

She could hear his voice through the walls, quiet but serious, speaking business to someone. Ari frowned, through the thick curtains of their bedroom; she could see the faint afternoon rays of sunlight. An odd time for business to any world. She debated for a moment about returning to sleep but knew her curiosity would not allow her a peaceful respite so she rolled out of bed to attend to her paramour. She went about the usual preparations, ensuring she was clothed modestly, and properly armed before picking up a silver glove that appeared completely harmless at first glance.

Ari pulled the glove onto her hand seamlessly, like she had for three years, and waited for the Charms to take over. Charms would take over for her missing fingers and augment her innate strengths as well as compensating for her weakness. Her hand was disfigured, from a battle she had fought years before but couldn't quite remember. Isaiah had said the injury had been an Auror's fault and, having no reason to disbelieve him, accepted this.

She made her way down the hallways, following Isaiah's voice. He was in his office, entertaining some guest whose voice was strangely familiar to her. Now by no means was ease-dropping an accepted trait for her, however there were certain subjects and words that baited her curiosity enough to have Erised forgo the human notions of respect for privacy.

Her own name being atop that list.

"You told me Erised would be left out of your petty wars." Isaiah hissed, "We had an agreement. You take the child and I have Ari."

"It was a promise I was all to willing to respect, Oir Ri but the rules have been changed and it was not my doing." The strange voice apologized.

"It's not mine either."

"But like us all, you will be affected. If Prince Mordred is allowed to continue on his path, we will all suffer."

Something stirred with Erised at the sound of Mordred's name. Something buried deep within her soul that would not come to her now as she called on it. Idly, she frowned and tried to push the worry from her mind; resting her hand over her heart- over a thick scar she didn't remember earning.

Isaiah inhaled, "And what do you want from her?"

"She can track Dove the best." The voice replied. "And where the girl is, Mordred is sure to be." There was a pause, as the voice turned cold. "Return Dove to me, and keep your corpse bride with my blessing."

"And if she fails?" Isaiah's voice was quiet and worried. "What then?"

"There are other means at my disposal if she fails." The voice soothed, and brightened with the next turn. "But she won't fail. Will you Erised?"

Erised walked into the room to face the strangers; she could see now that Isaiah was not entertaining one but two men.

"No." She said simply. "I won't."

* * *

Hecate Compound was immortal and one did not realize just how much that meant, or how much was included in that until they walked to cool gray footpaths in low light with a waxing moon overhead, and the simple security of knowing that this was the front lines of the world as well as some hidden, private fortress for the guardians. Snape exhaled against the cold air, watching his breath turn to vapor, and smiled a little relishing his home. It was early summer at Hecate, and in this region of America the summers were brought in by thick overpowering thunderstorms that some times brought tornados or hail through the area. From the thick crack in the distance, Severus could tell the upcoming storm was going to be huge.

He shifted his briefcase and grimaced. There were a million and one different reports Severus had to go through to prepare for another wave of Tribunal bureaucracy and testimonies, dating from the Dark Times up till modern day and ranging from anything like Auror evaluation reports to mission breakdowns and dossiers.

Another tired exhale escaped him as he randomly pulled one file out from the front of his back to look over it. These reports in particular were special to him. They were the reports and other files from the Intelligence Wing of Hecate, Interrogations sector dating back twenty years back when the Wing had been under the command of Master at Arms Malachi Smith.

Although most of these files predated even him, Severus knew many of their secrets by heart, having memorized them back when he had been a lowly apprentice on one of Malachi's squads. It had been illegal and a breach of protocol for Severus to have even known of these files but exceptions were made.

Mainly because he was dating the boss' Kaga.

He grinned, reading the clear script on the front of each file: Malachi, Sydney and Erised's names each signed and dated to show where exactly the file had transferred ending finally with Erised to be kept in the Kaga Archives until such a time as this one. He wondered idly, if he looked for these elusive archives could he find more then just old files there. He had spent his life learning to rely not on what Kaga said, but what they did do. Most Kaga were quick to bring attention to their superhuman senses, strengths and their "evolved" sense of morality but this had been largely been a guise for the Companions to study the humans. Which is why Snape knew whatever secrets the Tribunal wanted to uncover would lie with the Kaga.

The only problem with that is the Companions from that time were all dead.

And he could now only rely on their written word: something Hecate was never known for. Idly playing with his necklace, Snape shifted the folder open and began to read. He smiled lightly as he read Sydney's dry wit in the words.

Evaluations went as ordered, save one minor distraction. Apprentice Moore and Apprentice Snape brought water balloons to war game. Challengers Auror Remington and Companion Erised (KC9017) were unprepared for new weapon and fell back. Apprentices were able to capture the flag in two hours, forty-seven minutes.

_Master at Arms Smith awarded commendations for ingenuity._

There was a rustle in the foliage behind Severus that caused him to stop reading but continue in his pace, pretending to be unaware. He heard the footsteps heavy behind him and debated for a moment if this was just some passerby even though every sense in his body knew better. No matter how long peace had been entertained, being a Death Eater Prince had birthed in Severus an innate paranoia that had kept him alive longer then most. He paced himself, looking ahead to find a clearing to his liking. The shadow continue to follow him, haphazardly though the grounds and despite himself, Snape felt a stab of indignity.

Here he was, the famed Dark Prince himself, stalked by an amateur.

It was insulting.

Finally, Snape reached the clearing and paused, returning the file to his briefcase and waiting. He inhaled deeply to calm himself, knowing full well he was no longer the fighter he had once been and knowing this time was different. He could not enter a battle with no care or concern anymore. He had Sind to think about. He had something to live for.

He heard the person emerge from the gardens behind him, coming towards him. Snape counted to three before pulling his wand and swinging around- fully prepared to face whatever came.

Almost.

"Father…"

At first Severus didn't recognize the haggard creature before him. Lean and pale, Mordred stood with his trench coat folded all around him, as if Mordred had been attempting to keep out the chill. His hair was long and matted, still with tresses of royal purple, but now also discolored with gray. His face, once noble and handsome, was drawn and scarred with thick bruises that bloated one side of his face. Snape could see a make-shift patch covering his son's right eye.

Severus dropped the wand, ignoring the clatter it made on the stone underfoot. He wanted to move towards Mordred but couldn't find the will to make the motions. He was too shock to even think. He was unprepared for what came next.

"Father," Mordred repeated weakly, choking on something. "I need your help…"

Mordred took a fumbling step forward, but his legs rebelled, and the Black Prince pass out from the pain. A moment later, Severus fell to his knees to catch him, awkwardly attempting to render aid. He was so clumsily in his actions, the coat opened, and Snape, slicking his arm through it to better hold his son felt the warm stickiness of fresh blood.

And suddenly, peace was over.


	3. Justification

**Chapter Three: Justification **

"What were you thinking about bringing him here?" Remus Lupin's voice was cold and hushed. He stood now, reclining on the wall, and peering into his bedroom where his wife, large with child though she was, was busying about trying to save the Black Prince.

Severus was sitting down opposite the door, elbows resting on his knees and hands folded under his chin. "I had no where else to go."

"He's a murderer!"

"So am I."

Remus stopped and glared at his friend for a long time. Snape knew whatever words came next would be cold and probably true. Remus had changed. The Werewolf's face had aged since last they had seen each other, turning darker and thinner as the years passed. In recent months, despite the promise of an upcoming family, Severus had heard Remus was becoming colder, distant from friends and family. The pain of twice losing mates, and now- his firstborn son- was desperate and violent and Remus was finally beginning to buckle under the pain. Severus felt pained to bring reminders of the war and their cost back to Lupin, but knew, somewhat coldly, that there was no other means.

He would not lose his son.

"That thing in there murdered Kaiya." Remus began, softly at first as if each word brought him pain. Snape knew better though, Remus was trying to cushion the blow. "He murdered your daughter, made you a victim in your own country and almost destroyed everything you fought to protect. You owe him nothing."

"I will not turn my back on my son! I can help him!"

"What makes you think he wants your help? What assurance do you have that this isn't another ploy to kill you?" Remus demanded coldly, and then caught himself. The wolf bowed his head, and moved to close the distance between them. His voice returned softer. "Severus, some people do not deserve to be saved."

Snape looked at him callously. He rose to his full height then, keeping his voice a low whisper. "I am the Dark Prince, my Master's chosen weapon. His crowning glory. I made nations tremble and armies into ash. I have killed more then any nightmare you can fathom and not just my enemies- but also their families; innocence people who had no part in a war made solely for my entertainment. Had I wanted too, I could destroy those just like you…and your wife." He turned to watch as Amissa cast her spells of healing and protection over Mordred, giving no thought to herself. "It was so easy. I could creep into the rooms, and have all the time in the world for what I wanted to do. Sometimes, just for sport, I even made wives believe that murdering their husbands would spare their lives and you'd be amazed how fast they'd utter the words…"

Snape grew silent for a moment, still transfixed by the vision of Amissa doing her Runic magic. "And by Providence or pain, I was saved. So don't you dare begin to tell me some people don't deserve that choice." He moved swiftly as he saw Amissa complete her casting and motion to him quietly.

"Severus," Remus called softly. "Was."

"What?"

"You were the Dark Prince. You aren't anymore, remember?" Remus face was stone. "Isn't that what you fought for?" Snape fell silent again, giving the smallest entryway for Remus to rebut. When the wolf spoke, it was in love. "I'm only trying to protect my family, Snape."

"So am I." Snape returned, walking into the room. He laughed bitterly, stopping for a moment. "Funny how it works, isn't it Remus?"

"What?"

"How one day, your girl says she's late, it's yours and she's going to keep it and all of a sudden, even if you don't want too…you have to pretend to be a loving father." Snape smiled again as his insult sunk in. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Lupe?"

Amissa's face was dimmed by the low candle light in the room. She was wiping chalk from her hands when Snape approached, and in the pale light, Severus glimpsed her legacy as member of an ancient priest line. She was dressed in her nightgown- a pale white dress that flowed over her bloated stomach in ripples, and her long hair was down, around the shoulders and framing the face. The light caught the paleness of her eyes making her appear malevolent but the image dismissed itself as soon as it had appeared. Leaving only Amissa in its wake, a thin frown on her face.

"I was able to neutralize most of the pain." She told him, looking down at her hands, and pausing to glance at the bed. "And stop the bleeding for now…" She inhaled, and shook her head now as she raised her gaze to meet Severus' eyes. "But I could not heal him fully. The spell that was cast over him was a three-fold curse; it's resistant to Runic healing. I can't get it to release him."

"But you're a Rune Mage." Severus started desperately. "You're the strongest type of healer Hecate has. How can you not be able to heal him?"

"Because the spell is tailored specifically to your son by a Master Charmer. It was woven into him…like your Teiwaz charm was." She waved her hand over Severus' left eye in example.

Immediately Severus became conscious of a gentle warmth over his eye, as the Rune Teiwaz- wound healing- flared under its caster command. It was not a painful experience but for a moment, the vision in his left eye fled completely. He had been blinded in that eye during the final battle and rather then looking like a pirate for the rest of his life, he had allowed Amissa to cast a powerful Rune to restore some, but not all, of his sight. Because he had chosen to learn Voldemort's Nameless magic, which had roots in Necromancy, Amissa's Runic magic could not fully penetrate him.

She had told him that a Kaga would have the skills to completely restore sight to his eye because Kaga trained in free types of magicks, not allied to one discipline or another but Severus had yet to take anyone up on that offer. There was only one Kaga he trusted to perform such intimate magic on him.

And that person was dead.

"How does this type of curse work?" He murmured, blinking away the blindness as dim visions gradually returned to him.

Amissa inhaled nervously. "In the old days, they were used as ransoms. Coercion to get the victim to do whatever they wanted. It took time for this spell to be cast…meaning Mordred was probably ambushed and while he fought off his other attackers, the Rune Mage was able to curse him. The first part of the spell was the casting; Mordred probably thought he had been hit by a nasty hex. The second part…came later." She motioned to the bed, sadly. "It's like a wound that cannot be closed properly and begin to get infected. It's meant to be slow, and painful…to force Mordred into doing what they want in order to get the cure."

Snape licked his lips in an attempt to buy time and find his voice. "…and what is the last stage?"

"If he doesn't concede?" There was a moment. "Death."

Severus brushed past her to the bedside. Mordred laid peacefully on the blankets, eyes shut and hair strewn about his face like a matted crown. His lips quivered as Snape realized he was mumbling- praying some mantra over and over again that Severus could not understand. He wanted very much to comfort his son suddenly, but knowing no means to do, Snape was forced to remained focus on business.

"Mordred?" He whispered, kneeling down so he wouldn't have to raise his voice and disturb him any more then he had to. "…Mordred?" There was no reply. "Son?"

Mordred twitched and turned in the direction of his voice but didn't open his eyes. He stumbled over the word many times before his voice obeyed him. "Father?"

"Tell me who did this to you."

Mordred's face twisted in pain. "Aeacus Croix…"

"Croix!" Amissa started, "That's not possible…"

Severus turned. "Do you know Aeacus?"

"I know the family name" She began, "by reputation. The Croix are a Runic family, as old as the Moons and just as powerful. But they're zealots and recluse. They believe in the Old Ways concerning Gods and the Darkness." She made a disgusted sound. "They're the type of people who believe when you enter a dark place, you should first ask the shadows for permission and guidance to ensure a safe travel."

"And why not?" Mordred mumbled. "There's a lot of things that go bump in the night."

"Rest." Severus retorted, putting his hand over Mordred's. "Don't be smart."

"Don't worry, I never was."

"Why did Croix do this to you?" Severus whispered, pained. "What was he after?"

Mordred's eyes fluttered open, gaining strength from some unseen force- probably pure hatred and spite. "He wants Dove."

"Dove?"

"A girl under my care. She has incredible powers, powers Aeacus will try to use for his own designs." The Black Prince winced. "He's hoping that in my pain, I will go to Dove to heal me."

"Where is she?"

Mordred shook his head. "I cannot tell you." He breathed, wincing as another wave of pain threatened to break through Amissa's charms. "It's not safe."

"I am the Dark…"

"You are an Auror." Mordred countered, firmly. He was trying to sit up now, but succeeded in only rising a little. "And my last hope. Croix knows I've come to you. He'll send his bitch soon…" Mordred's face screwed into an expression of deep pain. "And she'll finish what she's started."

"I will not let you die." Snape hissed, leaning closer to Mordred and taking his hand. "We can fix this. If Dove is the way, let me bring her to you."

"No. You don't understand…"

"Your right." Severus said simply. "I don't understand and I don't care." He could feel tears begin to sting at his eyes but he strained to keep his voice low and steady. "We'll figure it out. We'll make it better."

Mordred laughed, "Oh father. Come to save me from the monsters hiding in my closet?" There were tears in the Prince's eyes. "It's too late for that."

"Why?" Snape demanded quietly. "Why won't you let me help you? Who is this Dove and why is she so important to you?"

Mordred closed his eyes for a moment, to gather strength before looking up gently. His hand curled up, to capture Severus' fingers in his own. There was a small pressure as Mordred gripped his father's hand in comfort. When he spoke, the Black Prince's voice held dignity, pain and above all else: resolve. "She is the one I am willing to die to protect."

With every fiber in his being, Severus wanted to shout and rant to convince Mordred there was another way. There had to be. He felt weak, strained and pained to be in such a situation that was only compounded by the grim weight of knowledge that came with the aspect of death. Mordred lay there, pristine and pained, and Severus wondered for a moment if Mordred knew exactly what would die with him. Mordred was the Heir of Akel Dama, the latest and last of those who bore the name Snape and if he died, so would the reign of a powerful family.

And forsaking even that, Mordred was Severus' son. The only remaining family Severus had on this earth and Snape would not lose him as he had all others.

"The man you said…Croix." Severus whispered, after a time. "He would have a cure?"

"Yes." Amissa answered, before Mordred could counter him.

"Where did you face him?" He pressed, nudging Mordred away from slumber. "Where?"

Mordred's voice was dim and fractured and for a moment, Severus was certain he didn't know who was asking him the question. This was to his benefit, he decided, if Mordred knew what bloody business Snape was plotting; Mordred would stop it.

"Ireland." Mordred murmured. "I was traveling to Malone's old home. Eoin's brother Kiernan…was to provide safe haven."

"I know it." Snape stood slowly, glancing at Amissa. "If you could watch him for the night, I take him tomorrow."

Amissa ignored Remus' disgruntled sound. She nodded gingerly. "I see if I can do anything more for him tonight."

"Thank you Amissa." Severus turned to go.

"What are you planning to do?" Amissa asked quietly.

Snape paused for a moment to consider this question. "Save my family."


	4. Enter the Dead

**Author's Note: God I hate this ending but enjoy. **

**Chapter Four: Enter the Dead**

There was a quiet moon watching the country side and the man who stood alone, making his way down the emerald hill at his leisure. He stumbled down hill haughtily as if he were older then he appeared and feared a fall. In the late evening, dew had begun to form on the grass blades and was soaking the legs of his fine suit and making his shoes shine as it ruined the leather. But the man paid no mind to his damaged clothing. There was something more important happening. There was a reckoning in the air, and he was eager for it. He would finally receive retribution for years upon years of wrongs that he had been forced to endure and accept in silence. No more.

Another figure captured his attention and made him pause. This one was clothed in white with the palest blue trim covering the edge of her Cossack.

"You were late." She muttered, "I grew concerned."

"Forgive me." The gentleman muttered insincerely, but the woman paid no mind. "Where's Croix?"

The woman glanced behind herself carelessly. "Croix is keeping an eye on the situation."

"He promised Mithras by now."

"And you promised Mordred." The woman drew her cloak closer to her frame and peered from the edge of hood up at him. "Yet I see no Prince hiding behind you."

"I have my compatriot already attending to that issue."

"Ah yes, the second of your Master's goons." She purred. "Only she isn't aware of the finer points of your employment, is she?"

"She knows. She simply doesn't acknowledge it. Yet."

"Do you?"

The gentleman stepped back a little, and frowned. "That is not why we're meeting. Time is running out, for both of us. Where is Mithras?"

"And why would I tell you that? Croix doesn't trust you."  
"You know what I think?" The man challenged. "I think you don't know."

"Are you willing to take that gamble and enter into this enterprise half-armed? I'm sure your Master would approve…"

"Enough," He waved his hand, dismissively.

"Good."

The woman withdrew her hood, letting her waves of sun kissed blond hair pool around her angular face and gray eyes and pale blue lips. She was small for a woman, delicate of frame but not weak, and angelic in her appearance. But nothing compared to her voice. Low, and gentle, with a soft accent of undetermined origin marring some of her words, those who listened were immediately fond of it. One longed to hear her voice again, to lean closer and capture some of the softer tones, to hear and smile at her laughter or comfort and weep with her tears. She was a Siren, this child of twenty years, perfectly formed and bred but not nurtured. She had a cruel history, it was said. Her mother tried to murder her in infancy. An uncle had rescued the child (who had been so near to death blue had touched her lips) and sent her away. The barrenness of home, had made the girl wild and cruel, had starved her gray eyes and made her gift of Wordcraft into a weapon.

She had been a barely a teen when Croix found her, trained, and named her- after her father: Erinnyes Malfoy, daughter of Silas.

Sydney Van Ness pulled on his gloves, watching Erinnyes with his small, self-contained smile. She reminded him so much of her mother at times. Reaching over, Sydney took Erin's hands into his and laughed. "Your Master and mine are after the same thing. And there's vengeance enough for the both…and us."

"But when?" Erin demanded sullenly.

"Soon."

Her eyes sought his. "What about Kiernan and the others? Is it…"

"Done. For good or bad, it's over now."

Erin's face darkened, and she wrapped her arms around her as if her coat was no longer enough to keep the cold out. "Let's go then…" She pleaded. "I'm cold now."

Sydney wrapped his arms around her small frame, nodded and took her away.

* * *

Even in it's full glory, the house was simple, almost poor in its design. Flat and appearing to recline on the hill that sheltered it; the home only boasted three bedrooms, a small living room and a something that was not quite a room that connected to the kitchen. In most ways, it was a typical Irish home for the region: antique and devoid of change. Even as the rest of the country rushed to what Muggles called the Information Age. 

Severus would have smiled at this, but as he moved forward (against his will,) all he could feel was a thick numbness that made his vision swim. The home, once simple and beautiful, now smoldered.

Someone had taken Heaven and turned it to Hell.

The woodwork was black, cracked and steaming in the cool evening. The arson had revealed the home's framework, making the simple palace look grossly misshapen and macabre. Severus stepped through the wall, laying his hand on door as he went in.

He had only been to the Malone's home twice before, both times while Eoin had ruled the place as family head, and both times, he had sneered arrogantly at its dullness. He was the Dark Prince then, and Pure-blood and it pained him to even encroach on something so mean and shallow as this familiar residence.

Inwardly, Severus winced. How stupid he had been.

How wasteful…

Eoin had known.

Looking back now, as he traced his hands over the blackened woodwork, curled photographs and tarnished silver, Severus knew Eoin had known. The Dark Lord's Kaga had possessed the quiet sadness that came with the wisdom of knowing that no of the glorious wars fought and died for would accomplish anything in the long run. Eoin had known it was all smoke and mirrors, shadows and cloud. He had seen what none of them could have possibly dreamed up: that their great fearsome new world would be nothing but ash and shadow one day.

And surprising himself, Severus felt a deep sense of lost of his Kingdom, his army.

He was Prince after all.

Severus turned into the bedroom and retreated for a moment in horror.

Kiernan Malone, the last of the Dark Lord's Guardians, had died fighting. His body was red and seared in most places, spread haphazardly over the bed where he had fallen in death. The smell was beginning to fester as creatures that traveled with death begun to form and thrive. Severus began to cough, but forced himself into the bedroom to closer examine the body. Mordred could have been caught in this holocaust, he thought grimly. His son could have been dead.

Correction, his mind rebuked, his son _was_ dead if he didn't find Dove fast enough. Fear began to inch into his brain before he could stop it. He paused for a moment in a vain attempt to quell his own fears. Too much hung in the balance for him to make a mistake. He knew that. He just couldn't, for the life of him, shake the feeling that he was stepping into something bigger then he had ever faced before.

There was a shutter of movement behind him that Severus reacted too late for. He became aware of an attack a moment after it occurred. Something drove him unto the bed, blinded him and fled. He caught the tail of a cloak rushing from the room into the hall. Jumping to his feet, Snape pulled his wands and followed.

The trespasser was waiting for him. It stood in the hallway, waiting: letting Severus see the black dress and bone white mask of a Death Eater before pushing into an attack. It drove it's momentum into a roundhouse kick, Severus turned prematurely. His scarred back erupted into pain but he did not cry out.

He was Prince. He would not cry out.

Doubling over for a moment, he threw his strength into a mad rush that knocked the attacker's center of balance off. The Death Eater stumbled back, recovering in time to receive Severus' one-two punch to the gut. Grabbing his wand, and never being one for physical combat, Severus shouted a hex.

It met the mark true. The attacker fell to their knees under the hex. There, Severus kicked them. They began to cough up blood under the mask, gagging.

"You're the one sent by Croix to finish Mordred, are you?" Severus demanded.

The person looked up but said nothing.

"Answer me! Did Croix send you?" Severus pushed him back, wand leveled at the Death Eater's chest. "Tell me who purchased your loyalty?" He leaned a little closer. "Tell me who made you betray your Prince!"

"I owe loyalty to no Prince." The voice returned angrily. It was a voice that Severus had not heard in three years. It was a strong voice, defiant and bold but filled with unquenched anger- a deep hallow void that nothing he could have done would remedy it. It was not the voice of a Death Eater minion but a seraph: an Angel. One who sold information to the highest bidder.

Snape took a step back but did not lower his wand.

The voice belonged to a dead woman.

"Remove the mask." He ordered, not really trusting his voice.

At first the woman hesitated, then slowly reached up to comply. She pushed back the hood of her cloak, allowing a thick braid to fall down her back. Whispering the proper incantation, she gingerly removed the mask and glared up at Severus.

"No one bought me. Not this time." Erised told him. "I've come to help you."

"You must think me a fool to believe that. You're a murderer, and a traitor. I've seen the files! It's all true…you sold us all out. Hecate Compound has a reward for your capture." Severus was ranting and he knew it. He was letting his anger and hurt win. But somehow he didn't care. He was losing control too quickly. He lifted his wand again. "I ought to kill you now."

"Do you and you murder any chance you have for Mordred." She countered. "I can help him."

"How?"

"I can help you find Dove."

"And how do I know I can trust you?"

Ari looked to her side, searching for her answers in the corner of the burnt room. Or, as Severus noted, it looked like she was talking to herself. That was a new habit. After a moment, she turned back to meet his eyes.

"How about this, Auror." She whispered, moving slowly to her sides. Severus tensed for a moment but only a moment. She was pulling the wands and throwing them down at his feet. "I surrender. You can turn me over to the Auror Interrogators at Hecate or the Kaga Dowsers at Arsan for all I care…or, you can let me help you save your son." She tilted her head, like a snake observing the best way to attack it's prey. "What will it be, Hero?"


	5. Acts of Angels and Men

**Author's Note: This chapter was a pain to write but damn did I enjoy it. Hope you do too. Kudos to Return of the King, various comics and friends for their input and inspiration.**

**Chapter Five: Acts of Angels and Men**

He was frail, this child of demons, so frail that a for a moment, Remus Lupin was tempted to kill him in his sleep. Remus stared at Mordred for a long time: watching the feared and hated Black Prince writhe in pain and fitful sleep. He found himself thinking of Kaiya, for what wasn't the first time in the four years since her death. He thought of RJ too and of the life that had been stolen from him. There had been times when the pain was almost bearable, and times when he could go through entire days where his mind caught Kaiya and RJ only four or fives times. But those days were few and fast fading.

Now all Remus' mind seemed to catch and settle on was Kaiya and RJ, and others he had lost.

"I know that look."

Remus inhaled at being caught in his musings and looked through the dim candlelight, till his eyes found Mordred's murky wine colored eyes. Mordred was breathing through his mouth now, and his bare chest was exposed and wet with sweat and pain. Remus' eyes lingered on the Prince's hale body, over the chest where there beat a callous heart; a heart undeserving of life.

Remus swallowed down his hatred again, and found it harder to bury it. He looked away, towards the door and willed for Amissa to return. "Oh?"

"Yes," Mordred said, "Eoin use to say it was the look of a fool." Remus rose to his full height, more on impulse and anger. Mordred laughed at him. "Yes," The Black Prince continued. "He said that those who lost everything made the best drones. They could adopt a cause and go to their deaths never asking the most important question…"

"And how many "fools" followed you to their death, Bastard Prince?"

"My army." Mordred began to cough violently, screaming out in pain and motioning to a small glass of water Amissa had set near his reach. Remus crossed quickly, picking up the glass and holding it to his chest. It was a small, petty victory, but it was his. Mordred looked up at him, but admitted no defeat. Instead he swallowed down the pain, and met the wolf's eyes again. "I was a Prince. I do no regret doing my duty!"

Remus sneered at him, "You still don't get it, do you? You're no Prince; you're a copy, a mimic. Your father was a hero, even as Prince. Those who fought under his command had respect, had honor. You're a parasite, like Peter, a lesser son of greater fathers. The world- those in it and the causes fighters hold dear, mean nothing to you. And now…when you die, and you will die, I'll make sure of it…no stars will be seen, heaven won't fall silent and the nightmare will be over." Mordred licked his dry lips. Remus saw, in the deepest parts of Mordred's eyes, a slight youthful tremble of fear, a realization of the truth. Another victory soothed Remus' heart and for a moment, he felt lighter.

"Remus?"

Remus turned, and smiled at Amissa. He walked closer to her and reached down to kiss her cheek. At the last moment, just as he knew she would, Amissa moved, and their lips met. Remus lingered there for a long moment, savoring her touch, her smell and the sound of her heart as it pounded a little harder in her chest. His hands found her swollen belly, and for a moment, he savored that sensation too: the warmth of a new formed life resting peacefully.

And for a moment, Kaiya and RJ didn't hurt as much.

"Why were you in here?" Amissa asked, her knowing eyes meeting his fearlessly. Remus had learned a long time ago that Amissa knew more then ever hinted to and he had to mind his actions and reactions around her: especially when hiding things.

"Just making sure he wasn't dead." Remus said truthfully. "I don't likethe smell."

"I'll take that." Amissa said, taking the cup from Remus hands and avoiding his gaze. "Thank you for watching over him. I got it now."

It was a dismissal. Remus knew it, and he wouldn't buck it. Not this time. He gave her a small nod and kissed her forehead before leaving.

Stopping for a moment before he made his way to his study, Remus found himself looking out into the forests that hid Moon Manor from the rest of the world. There was a bone white moon shining from behind clouds and cold. But it was not full. Not yet.

There was still time.

Remus was not a pragmatic person. He didn't believe in shades of gray, or in circumstances changing what is profoundly right or wrong. He was never one to accept lies-even to himself-or pretend to be blind to what he saw but didn't like. Now this is not to say, Remus viewed himself as virtuous man, a righteous one, or even someone holier and displaced in this world of grays and injustice. He was simply an honest man.

And as an honest man, Remus knew whatever actions he took in this next hour would forever change the rest of his life. He had a good, comfortable life now, and in one swoop, with this one action, Remus was well aware that everything could, and more likely would be altered by what he was now planning to do.

But Remus was an honest man and he could not be blind to injustice. He just hoped Amissa would forgive him, he knew Severus never would.

* * *

It had been the Tribunal's official findings that information laundered, transported or handled by the information broker Saint Michael had drastically altered or swayed as many as 36 separate Hecate missions although evidence could only be gathered on eight. The real number was widely believed to be much higher but Michael's contacts were deeply entrenched and impossible to track. Critics of the Tribunal said they wished to blame St. Michael for every military snafu from Rio Hecate's mutiny to the Compound's mole whose actions resulted in the death of Auror Apprentice Matthew "Billy" Moore, and his family. They had asked why Hecate Compound failed to launch an internal investigation during this time. The Tribunal counted saying that regardless of Rio's indiscretions, it had been incomprehensible to suspect a Kaga Companion capable of such rampant treason. 

In other words, the thought of such brutal betrayal never seemed possible.

And now, as Severus watched Erised Hecate scour the remains of her family's home, one word was running through his mind. "Why?"

The creature once called St. Michael turned upon being addressed, and tilted her head. She had been deep in thought again, trapped in an internal dialogue. She blinked away her thoughts and inhaled. "What?"

"Why?" He repeated, simply and softly. "They say you sold us all out, even Billy and Dora…if it's true, I want to know why. It's a simple question isn't it?"

She was to her feet, flexing her gloved hands as if she was physically releasing anger. That was new, Severus thought. Kaga, especially the Malone family, never allowed their personal feelings to interfere with their everyday lives. Severus wondered for a moment if it was act, but quickly dismissed that idea. Ari was never one for intrigue and subterfuge. He had to force himself to remember a second later, she was a spy. Inwardly he grunted, acknowledging her treason would be hard for him. He still didn't believe it.

Maybe that's why he needed to understand it.

"How can you ask me that?" She demanded; her voice was barely above a whisper. "You, who left us, how can you accuse me of betrayal?"

"I left after the fact. They say you…you were selling us out from the beginning." He was picking a fight. He knew it was unwise. But he didn't care. He was ranting again but he desperately needed the answers she could offer. He needed something real again, needed something to center him and keep him from thinking about Mordred and this diversion was as good as any. "I don't…understand what happened to make you betray us. Especially because we were so damn good together." He smiled bitterly. "The squad. Sydney, and Jude, and Billy and us…we were so good together, all of us. There wasn't anything that could tear us apart, right? I didn't dream that up, it was real it happened, didn't it? Or was it…just an illusion. I mean, was it ever...real?"

She was staring at him hatefully, but she turned away, to inhale and calm down. "It was real."

"Then why did you betray us?"

"Listen to me very carefully, Bela, you don't have to believe me but listen to me. I never betrayed the squad."

"Ari, we have proof…"

She met his eyes, and for a moment, he saw the glimmer of the woman he had known, the one he had thought he loved. "I never lied to you, or the squad and I won't now. I did not sell you out."

"Then what do you call it?"

"I was trying to protect you." She turned away, back to the burnt remains of the rooms. "From this." She licked her lips, trying to form words and she looked afraid.

"I don't understand."

"Mordred is hiding from more then just Aeacus Croix. There are wheels within wheels involved here, Bela. Monsters bigger and stronger then anyone you've ever faced."

"I'm not afraid of that."

"You should be." She told him, flatly. "Especially if you are still looking for answers concerning what happened twenty years ago. It's all connected. Remember that. If you want to understand what happened then, and now…you'll have to see the connection and believe…" She trailed off.

"Believe what?"

"Everything."

Severus bowed his head. He was getting a headache. "I'm going to have to go the Hecate, to get some things, and tell Sind to where I'm going."

"Sind?" Ari asked, arching a brow. The Kaga's demeanor froze a little, as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Who's Sind?"

Snape met her eyes. "My fiancée." It didn't sound so bad once he actually put into words.

Ari's expression never changed. "Aha, well I guess this means it's the end of the line for me."

"What?"

"You said yourself, I'm a wanted criminal. Do you think I could just stroll into Hecate unnoticed." She tiled her head. "Unless of course you wanted me to meet you somewhere."

"How do I know you'll show up?"

"I gave you my word."

"Forgive me if I don't believe the word of a spy." Snape said as he reached down and pulled a knife from inside his coat. "Give me your hand." Ari complied and Severus slit her palm, just slightly. She recoiled and stared at him, angrily. It was an old dagger, one Ari recognized as once belonging to Severus' long time lover Jack the Ripper.

"What was that for?"

"Insurance." He gave her a look. He held up the knife. "This blade contains a poison that is currently running through your veins. It takes two days to kill and I hear it's a rather painful, bitter end. It also takes twelve days to properly brew the antidote. An antidote, I have ready."

Ari's eyes grew wide as she clutched her hand. "You son of a bit…"

"If you want the antidote, you'll meet me at Lethe Hall." He took a beat to add emphasis. "You do remember where it is, don't you?"

"How do I know this isn't a bluff?"

"If you think it is, don't show up and see." He told her simply. He turned to leave and for a moment wanted to smile at her, just like old times. Instead he bit it back and nodded to her. "I'll see you tonight." He turned to leave. "Do not be late."

Ari watched till he disappeared and then let her hand fall. She knew, even if he wasn't bluffing, the poison would not kill her. Nothing could kill her for the simple fact that she was already dead. But still, for a moment, she seriously considered walking away from this. Severus could not succeed in this mission, and she feared that her actions would only help him. She had already revealed too much. But left unsupervised, Snape might achieve his mission. Then her Master would not be pleased. No. For good or bad, she would have to stay with him till the end.

Like an Angel.


	6. The Diadochi

Author's Note: A small chapter to thank you guys for putting up with the lack of updates. Any Inuyasha fans out there, check out my new stories. Sorry this is unedited but hey, lets see if you guys can pick what villains had made cameos.

**Chapter Six: The Diadochi**

It is common knowledge that when a monarch dies, it is the right and duty of their heir to take command as a means to prevent anarchy, and chaos. Rivals, beaten enemies, even trusted allies will all vie for power once their leader is gone. This is how been the means of history for thousands of years. And the more powerful the monarch, the more vital it is that a strong heir is groomed for leadership. After all, no one is immortal.

Lord Voldemort, once called Tom Riddle, was many things and for what evil could be said of him, his actions also begged the acknowledgement that he was a powerful, skillful ruler. For the span of his kingship, even including the 11 year disappearance, Voldemort had keep the countless Underworld factions, alliances and cults in order and unified. Had it not been for his treason, the Dark Prince had been a wonderful choice as successor and even his Black Prince seemed a worthy, if untested, second in command. But the Princes had failed, and betrayed their kingdom. They had destroyed not only their Kingdom but their Court.

Great names, names that could have been strong, solid rulers had been hunted down and slaughtered. Jack the Ripper was dead, as were the Malfoy lords. The Throne of Souls had been murdered years before, and in the final War the leader of the foremost English Werewolf clan Ezra Astor had been killed.

The three years that had followed had found the Underworld in civil war.

And tonight would mark the first time since Voldemort ruled that all the Dark forces would gather together under one roof in a truce.

Isaiah sipped his Ymodi leisurely from his place by the door. He liked position; it was both noticeable and dismissive: everyone was aware of his presence but no one felt the need to corner him into some idle chatter. It was his duty as Host after all to ensure all present were cared and provided for. This was, after all, his domain.

His haven, the Grand Marquis had been decided on as the meeting grounds due to the Vampire neutrality. Unlike their counterparts, the Vampires had flourished during the Dark Times. With exception of the final battle, they had remained neutral and held non-combative alliances with both sides of the conflict: treaties negotiated and enforced by the information dealer St. Michael.

Isaiah inhaled, and despite knowing she would not be there, Isaiah turned to the window to allow his thoughts to travel to his bride. Instead of finding Ari in his sight, Isaiah caught sight of their son, Dante. Dante was in the corner talking to three higher bred Vampires. One was flirting (unwisely) with a troupe of Banshees, while one engaged Dante in a conversation. The tallest of the group looked over, caught Isaiah's eye and grinned a dirty grin at his host. Isaiah gritted his teeth; of the whole group Isaiah disliked him the least. He was also Ari's favorite.

Ari.

Isaiah inhaled thoughtfully as his right hand found his left wrist, pushing the sleeve of his robe to touch a solid black band tied around it. Ari wore a similar band around hers. They needed no visible sign of their commitment to each other. A quiet ceremony had been enough: in the darkest, most sacred of both their kinds. Blood letting and soul binding had passed between them. They belonged to each other.

Which is why he feared this new time, and the new order those assembled sought to build; old soldiers like Ari never rested when war on the air, while politicians like he, sought only peace.

They had love, yes. But some things are stronger then love.

"You, Vampire Master," Isaiah dismissed his thoughts to look to the Banshee who had addressed him. "Have we come only to get drunk on wine and whores?"

"That's all a Banshee is good for!" Muttered a Jinn from the corner, his black skin glistening like smoldering coals. A small fire burned in his palm.

"Would you like to say again, Headman Fire-Eater?" The Banshee hissed, flexing her long claws menacing. The troupe clustered around the female, clicking and readying for battle.

Isaiah closed his eyes. He was going to get a headache. He could feel it.

"Caoimheall, Jasper..."

The voice ran like ice through Isaiah's veins, as well as everyone else's. It belonged to the one who had called this meeting. An elderly gentleman appeared in the doorway, on his face a sincere, innocent smile that cut through his aged face and brightened it. He looked like a grandfather, a favorite uncle, who toddled from place to place with the aid of an old wooden cane that was craved with intricate details from some ethnic occult tradition deep in Africa. The darkness of the cane made his suit gleam like bone, and the smile seem more surreal. It was all very theatrical.

Already inside, but near to his master, stood a man who was much older then he appeared. Strong of shoulder, and broad chested, this man was not as delicate as his patron. Under a crop of blond hair barely touched by gray, his face was handsome, thinning and scarred above the lip. He wore a Navy colored suit with black polished shoes that had suffered water damage. There were black leather gloves on his hands and he stood a little away from the wall while keeping the appearance of leaning on it. He seemed reluctant to touch anything. He reeked of death and expensive cologne.

The Master brushed back his graying hair from his face, and chided again. "I've invited us all as friends here. Please, let us build this friendship."

Caoimheall swept a little closer to Jasper, and the Jinn, sensing her anixiety put an arm around her blue shoulders. They both stared at the man with a mixture of fear and anger.

"You have called us, Grave-Robber," Jasper cooed, dangerously. "Rival clans and ancient enemies, under a banner of fear and respect, to speak of war and revenge. Lord Mud-Blood at least had the respect to visit in our courts, in our time. You insult us by calling us like dogs."

There was the slightest of movements in the corner, where a white haired, white clad figure looked up from the little human girl at his feet and studied Jasper. The odd couple, Japanese by origin, had thus far been too contented in each other's company to pay much attention to anyone else. Now, the girl, dressed in a checkered Kimono, looked up at her Attendant expectantly. The man shook his head, turned away and ignored the comment.

Isaiah's headache was now a dull pain.

The bodyguard shifted slightly, but the man reached over and touched his arm. The smile never so much as flinched. "I offer much more then revenge and war, Jasper Fire-Master. I offer the Eternal Ones."

An old Spanish werewolf, surrounded by her pack, stopped fanning herself and readjusted the black veil she wore over her hair. Her dark brown eyes narrowed, and when she spoke, her voice was old like leather. "We are listening, Don Marcardit."

"Thank you, Contessa Solis." The old man said, bowing before the elder wolf. He rose and scanned the room. "As you all know by now, I am Imre Marcardit, the last of my bloodline and the last, true Necromancer. Centuries ago, my family, my kin was slaughtered by the armies and allies of Rune Mages. This war was for control over the Eternal Ones once and for all."

"Is there a point to this history lesson?" An old American asked from his place at the bar. His wore black sparring pants and a blue shirt with a Western tie. Over this was a Western style jacket of black leather and dark brown shoulders. On his hip was an authentic Hattori Hanzo blade, reputed to be able to cut God himself.

"And anyone who knows the history," Imre continued, "will remember the betrayal."

"The Kaga betrayed us all." Mola Ram, a dark priest from India chirped up. "They took the Eternal Ones and murdered them, then fled to the Aurors where we could not touch them. Since then, their priests have gone out, as guardians and murderers of the Eternal Ones. They keep them away from anyone who would seek them."

"And the power of life and death was taken from us." Imre concluded, "Until now. I have set aside the centuries of genocide and hate, to ally Aeacus Croix. Together we have found the keeper of Death, with Life's avatar soon to follow." The room shivered collectively, but attention was now paid. Imre took this, "Now, before this meeting past, let us all unite, apart of old blood lusts, and debts, and arrogance…we can have this world."

"Under you." Mola Ram supplied.

Imre nodded. "Under me."

The American bit his lip. "I'm sure we can work something out."

Isaiah downed the rest of his drink unceremoniously and moved towards the door. He had no patience for war, genocide or grand plans. He hadn't stomach. He pushed open the door to his bedroom, and closed it. Resting his back against the door, closing his eyes and praying. It was amazing how much he missed Ari. She could calm his mind now…

Could calm his doubts about aiding such a devil like Imre…

"Isaiah?"

Isaiah jumped, and spun to the voice. He blinked back his terror when he saw who his unannounced guest was. "Remus, old friend, you startled me." He turned to glance at the door. "Now is not a good time…"

"Forgive me." Came the gentle reply but the wolf moved only to take another drink from the brandy he had taken. He didn't even bother to use a glass. "But I needed to talk, can we talk?"

Isaiah glanced at the door again. If Imre knew…

"Sure," The Vampire whispered. "We can talk."


	7. Payments to the Dead

**Author's Note: **A feeble attempt to return to my roots and if nothing else, finish what I started. I hope to one day work on Brothers Grim as well, but no promises to how quickly these two will be updated and completed. Hope you enjoy. R/R

**Chapter Seven: Payments to the Dead**

In the nighttime, Hecate Compound was all polished bone and transient. Severus walked through the gates silently, moving like the shadows on the white walls and not paying much attention to the Compound around him. He caught himself in this and despite the pressing matters that weighed on his mind; Snape paused and looked around. The white walls looked back at him contently, waiting. He thought idly for a moment about all the generations of Aurors that had passed through these halls under this name and under this same cause and wondered for a moment, if there had ever been others that felt this way too. Hecate had no memory, Snape knew, but it had a legacy. It had others who remembered for it: families and friends that painted the names of fallen Aurors and dead family upon their hearts for their children to carry the names on their brow.

Severus wondered how many times someone had stood there with the white moon overhead, and Hecate before them, plotting and wondering what would become of them. He felt so small suddenly, behind the cool alabaster walls and the great big world. The sky was spread out before him like a cloak, and he could hear the voices inside, dulling because of the late hour and the sleepy inky haze Hecate summers brought in.

It was all so damn normal, he thought distantly, so damn familiar.

Despite the years, the toils and trials, he found himself half-expecting to see Billy Moore come tumbling out of the Compound, sleeping weighing on his eyes and weak smile before telling him not to work too hard, tell Ari he loved her, and that he'd have Dahlia put something in the oven for him.

Ari…

Saint Michael.

Snape felt a shiver of cold travel down his spine and unbidden his hand found the wand at his side. The past peeled away then, causing him to remember. He had found Erised in the burned out remains of Malone home. She had been there, expecting to see his son.

His son. That's right. His son was dying.

She was going to kill him.

Snape's hand found the necklace around his throat and idly, thoughtfully, he let his callous fingers dance over the Angel. He had enjoyed three years of peace and quiet. Of ignorance to everything he had once claimed intimate knowledge. Now, with the appearance of one boy and with one fell swoop everything that went bump in the night was now firmly back at his doorstep. He only wished he had some idea what he was doing.

He was no longer the Dark Prince. There was no Jack the Ripper, or Throne of Souls to come to his aid. There was no Dark Lord to command his path, no Headmaster to appease. The war was over. This was the wake of it; a residue like ash and shadow that the survivors had to muddle through to find whatever came next.

"How comes us?"

Severus turned suddenly to find the figure of Sherman Hesper and his dog Jimmy approaching him. Hesper was all Navy and capes, with the dog at his side, gave off the strong impression of power and authority. There was a stirring in Severus as he watched the Auror approach, an awaking of deep seated paranoia that had kept him alive so long in England. He set his jaw, and smiled thinly. "You look like a gangster." He told Sherman easily, eyeing the thick overcoat the Auror wore.

"You look like a ghost." Sherman returned; he stopped beside Severus and produced a cigarette from somewhere inside his coat. There was the cold, unfamiliar silence between them as they both tried to measure up each other: torn between keeping old prejudices alive, or trying to remember that the war was over, and they were now friends. "Want one?"

Severus arched a brow and shook his head. "Those will kill you."

"A lot of things will." Sherman laughed. "Maybe that's what makes them comforting."

"There's no comfort in death, Sherman."

"Could you be so sure?"

"I've done once."

"Only once?" The old Auror laughed. "Amateur."

Silence. Both men stood together in the darkness, between smoke and all the words they couldn't seem to say. Severus turned and stared at the graveyard in the darkness. He thought of Mordred and Ari, of Voldemort and Harry. He thought of Jackie, and Melanie, and Eoin and everyone else that had died.

"Do you think its over?" He asked Hesper. The dog gave a low guttural growl at the question. The old man looked up, "What?"

"The wars. The Dark Lord, his princes…the battle we fought was suppose to end all wars. Do you think it did?"

"Of course not. That was one fight, Severus. One war."

"Nothing's the same anymore."

"It never is." Sherman arched a brow, and watched him. "What are you thinking about?"

"The dead."

"You put too much stock into the dead…your family always has."

Severus turned to face Sherman then, as if for a moment, he wanted to rebut that comment but upon admitting the truth to himself, Snape decided against it and returned to his reverie.

"I meant no offense."

"None taken."

"Liar. Tell me, Severus, why do you follow them beyond the grave? What power do they hold for you? What is it you wish to learn from the dead?"

"Something they're not telling us." Snape whispered. His hand found St. Michael at his neck; there was something going on. He knew that. He could feel it. It was in everything that Mordred hadn't said to him, everything that Erised's return from the grave had brought back.

The Auror at his side seemed undisturbed by this. "I wouldn't be surprised. The dead have souls…"

"Funny, I thought the dead _were_ souls."

"And if they're hiding that." Sherman drawled, slow and measured on his cigarette. "What else do they keep secret?"

Severus turned fully then and stared into the darkness to the shadow that was kept alight only by Hesper's cigarette. The old Auror's eyes were staring into his, telling him something that had no words, only warnings. He wondered idly if he knew. "I'm going away for a few days." He told Hesper without meaning to. "Tell Sind, I'll keep in touch. There's something I have to do."

"You don't have to do this," Hesper whispered. "You don't have to jump this time."

"I owe it to them."

"You owe the dead nothing, Severus."

"Yeah, I do." Severus swallowed, glancing at the graveyard and then back to Sherman. "That none perish, remember?"

"Is that what you're doing? Saving a life?"

"I hope so."

Severus swung on his heels then, and walked away. He was doing something he never thought he would have had to do again, something that he had thought he left behind in Voldemort's grave, sealed with the blood of countless friends and enemies. He had given Death many gifts in the name of never having to return. He thought he had killed enough, allowed enough people to die to appease the Dark Prince and be free of him. But, as he walked passed the orphanage where Kaiya had grown up, pass the gardens where Memory had stood, and the Gray Wing, pass even the Hecate graveyard to push towards the perimeter. He should have known, he thought to himself sadly. He should have known. You can never go back.

Ever.

He was the Dark Prince.

Then, without ever looking back, Severus left Hecate Compound once again. He walked until the night swallowed him from view, and then he was gone.


	8. Kisses and Betrayals

**Author's Note: I am trying to make this story shorter then Denouement but no promises. To quote Pilate, "what I have written, I have written."**

**Chapter Eight: Kisses and Betrayals **

Remus Lupin was pretending. He was pretending for a moment he was back in the old days, before death and lost had weighted his steps and took his sense of belonging. He was pretending that he was back in the days of Beatlemania and Silas' parties. During those times he had been husband to Elise Astor, the Alpha of his pack. Ezra, Elise's brother, had been the second. Back then, the Vampires were led as they had been for centuries in memoriam: by the child Daniel, flanked by his Prophetess and a bodyguard.

Isaiah and Remus had existed behind it all, watching their leaders, without being one. Isaiah had been a keeper, and a negotiator. He called himself the tailor. His job as he described it, was to smile and iron out details. He made the situation fit his clan best. Remus could claim no such position. Remus had, quite simply and without much regret, been Elise's husband. His sole duty was to adorn her arm at ceremonies and occasionally speak to outsiders with his brother Ezra at his side, to assure them Astor Pack was merely a "support group" for others like himself.

Ezra Astor…

Even now, even after all that had passed; he could never bring himself to hate Ezra though he might wish with all his might that such a thing were possible. There was still that childish devotion to his one true friend, to the Pack Leader, and his Master. There was still the blood between, both theirs and (though Remus was pained to admit it) the blood of their victims that bonded them. How could Remus, knowing what he was possibly think to ignore that? How could he undo what he was? Did it matter that Ezra was a murderer and tried to make Remus one?

Of course not. He was Ezra. Remus could forgive it all…couldn't he?

_"Leave her out of this, Ezra." Remus shouted, growling deeply as he stepped to stand between Amissa and Ezra. "She's not a part of this."_

_"You brought her into this." Ezra countered. "When you dared choose her and her kind over your pack! After we have done everything to protect you! You betray us! For a human!"_

_"This isn't about pack loyalties, Ezra. It's about what's right."  
"I say what is right for our pack, not you!" Ezra stepped back, arching his back as he prepared for an attack. "And you seem to have forgotten that." He tilted his head. "No matter, Riener will probably be more of an apt pupil."_

_At the sound of his son's name, Remus howled and tackled Ezra. The elder werewolf took hold of Remus' shoulder, lifted him up and threw him like a rag doll. Amissa screamed and moved to stand, but Ezra was quicker, driving his weight into a powerful uppercut that sent Amissa too sprawling onto the ground. Remus was up on his feet by the time Amissa slide to a rest. He paused, and called to her but there was no reply. Amissa wasn't moving, and there was a thin lip of blood coming from her mouth. He couldn't see her breathing, nor discern any sign of life._

_Remus howled again, and turned back to Ezra. "You'll pay for that!" He shouted and threw himself again at his leader._

No…

Ezra had tried to kill Amissa, had threatened Riener. Maybe he had even ordered Riener and Choice's death three years ago, Remus would never know. He thought idly about how much they would never know about that terrible day back then when Voldemort had fallen but Remus had died. And indeed, he felt like he died then and all that had passed since was rehearsed and scripted. He just wanted things to make sense again.

Remus Lupin broke his dreams to watch as the light from the fireplace danced across the opposite wall. It caught the dark honeyed color of his drink and painted the walls in it. He smiled thinly as he watched it. Years ago, decades ago, he remembered sitting in the Grand Marquis' parlor sharing drinks with the Vampires and speaking of idle things.

This was when Ezra was still loved, and Kaiya some dark distant star in the future.

How idle they had been, how innocent and ignorant of the world. How terrible in their ignorance, how destructive.

And now, sitting in Isaiah's private bedroom, Remus could only feel the pain of lost, and the ghosts of the dead.

"Will you not tell me what troubles my old friend?"

Remus looked up, catching Isaiah as the Vampire leaned against the table across from him. Isaiah had never desired to be leader, and even now despite being leader for decades, seemed ill at ease in his position, not that Remus could blame him much. What was decades to a Vampire? But he was a good leader; Isaiah loved his people and wanted peace. He reminded Remus very much of himself back with Elise. Isaiah was desperately in love and loved by his mate, St. Michael. Isaiah functioned best when he and Michael were near.

It was something epic and right when they were together.

She must have been gone on some mission, Remus thought, for Isaiah looked pale and troubled. Remus thought idly, gratefully, that perhaps Isaiah was worried about him too.

Remus took another long drink of his whiskey and winced from the taste before reclining. "Who leads the Underworld now?"

Isaiah blinked, and stared at Remus. He seemed to debate about Remus' trustworthiness. Remus smiled sadly. "No man leads the underworld."

"Who hunts the Black Prince?"

Again the Vampire seemed concerned with the amount of knowledge Remus possessed. He shifted, "I don't know what you ask of, Lupin…"

"I know where the Prince is hiding."

Isaiah jerked his head forward, staring at him. His eyes seemed to narrow for a brief moment. "He lives?"

Remus took another drink, for courage. "For now. My wife is tending to him."

"A dangerous place to find yourself, friend." Isaiah warned, watching him. "Be mindful and cautious. There should be a child with him, a small girl. Is she?"

"No. But he knows where she's hiding. He refuses to tell Amissa or Severus her location though."

"Severus?" Isaiah inhaled sharply. "The Dark Lord is involved?"

Remus almost smiled. It was funny sometimes, how set in their ways the old order was, and how many still considered Snape the rightful heir to Voldemort. "The Auror" Remus corrected gently. "is protecting his son. He's pursues someone named Croix. I haven't spoken to him since he first dropped the Prince into our lap. He was going to the Malone house. Supposedly that's where Mordred was when he was attacked."

The Vampire was staring at the Wolf. "Why are you telling me all this, Lupin?"

"I'm protecting my family. Amissa's with child, and I won't have some new war endangering her. I've lost too much already." Remus laughed a little. "Funny, how that works huh?"

"What?" Isaiah whispered.

"How one day your girl says she's late, it's yours and she's going to keep it. Then, even you don't want to…suddenly, you have to be a loving parent."

Isaiah glanced behind him, towards the closed door of the parlor where Dante still lingered with all the little gods of war. Dante who had first brought Ari back to him. "Yes, I suppose it is funny."

Remus was laughing. He looked up. "So, tell me. Who is after the Prince?"

"Imre."

Remus frowned. "Imre? The teacher?"  
"He's more then that now."

A pause. "No matter." Remus shrugged, "I want a promise that Amissa will not be hurt when Imre comes for the Prince."

"I will not promise that."

Remus smiled thinly. "Of course not. You promise nothing that's out of your domain. Always have been so political."

Isaiah rose then, walking towards the parlor. "You know, some people are born into leadership. They have the charm, or skills, or ruthlessness to obtain their darkness desires. They wish for power or people or love, perhaps for something even they do not understand. I've never wished for such things, old friend. I have no use for power, or influence."

He looked quiet somehow, thoughtful. It was probably a Vampire thing: that strange ability to exist in time but not be of it. Isaiah seemed ageless, but careful. "I am not some great leader of men, Remus. I never wished to be. I only wished…" When Isaiah turned back to watch Remus, there was a sadness in his blank dark eyes. "Be sure this is what you truly desire."

Remus watched as he disappeared behind a door, he was gone for a short time. When he appeared again, Isaiah was staring away, into a corner and there was a man that had followed him in. He was much older then the other, and so upright in stance it seemed painful. He was not at all harsh in appearance, with a lean, thin frame that swam in the tailored linen suit. The man's skin was pale but not ivory; in his youth he must have been a handsome caramel but now age and worry had turned his tone gray. His face was long, narrow, and sunken. His hair long, gray and pulled back. He carried a cane.

"The Oir Ri said you wished to speak with me." The old man spoke. His voice was low, dulled and common. Remus was struck with how simple he seemed. He had none of Voldemort, Snape or Malfoy's bearing. He was a common man, unrefined and coarse.

"And who are you?" Remus demanded.

"You may call me Imre."


End file.
